


Botched

by unfortunette



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: CIA AU, Torture, codename death star, mild torture I mean, no relationships yet but, who knows honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7779439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunette/pseuds/unfortunette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orson Krennic, Director of Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, is having a hell of a time with this interrogation. Chairman Tarkin isn't pleased. I'm not sure where this is going honestly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Botched

**Author's Note:**

> pls be kind to me

Orson Krennic, Director of Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, was getting his hands dirty. He didn’t do this often, but it was by no means an honour. It was a last recourse, a move made when he no longer had the temper for watching his men fail to get so much as a word out of the detainee. It was also a death sentence.

In the report he filed on this, he reflected, pulling the man’s head up by the hair to look into his face, he wouldn’t use the word ‘botched,’ although he was rather beginning to think that it applied. They had been at it for almost thirteen hours, and  _ nothing _ . He was getting tired, but no more cooperative. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asked smoothly, watching with a bright, hungry gaze. A weary shake of the head, the man did not. Krennic sighed, more for the prisoner’s sake than his own, and reached into his breastpocket for the ID card he carried for security clearance. He slapped it down on the table in front of him, the plastic making a smart click as it snapped against the surface. He looked very polished in the photo, very smug. It was clear that he’d known he was meant for this when that photo was taken, that he took great pride in his work. And he did. He allowed himself a twinge of fondness, looking at the man he’d once been, and then pointed at the name under the picture. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Again the prisoner shook his head, a difficult motion with Krennic’s hand still wound tightly into his hair. The fond feeling vanished, replaced by scorn. “Liar,” he hissed, and used his grip on the man’s hair to slam his head into the table-- a crushing, punishing blow. He didn’t lift him up again, merely picked up his ID and thumbed it back into his pocket, clipping it to make sure it stayed. He took a few steps, moving about the room, rolling his neck to try an alleviate some of the stiffness. At least he was standing. 

The man’s nose was bleeding, he noted grimly. He’d already passed by his policy to leave no mark. Well, he’d passed that by hours ago, when his usual techniques hadn’t worked. Whoever this was, they were well trained, possibly to the extent of fruitlessness. But Krennic had never been a man to give up. So long as he was  _ alive _ , he had potential. 

“Must be…” the prisoner spat blood onto the table, flashing a red smile up at the director, “doing pretty badly if they’ve sent  _ you _ in here.” Krennic’s smile curled. No one sent him in here, he came because he wanted to take care of this one personally. He’d been supervising all along, but he  _ so _ enjoyed having a personal touch. 

“I’m going to ask you again,” Krennic said smoothly, his voice untempered by the microphone that had been between them before. Quieter, silkier. “One last time. I’ve been very kind so far, but you are beginning to outlive your value.” The prisoner’s eyes stayed fixed ahead, but the heavy blink told him that he understood. “I don’t need to waste time getting a confession, I know you’re the informant. What I  _ do  _ need to know is  _ how _ you got  _ access _ to the plans for the weapons test. And how you got them  _ out of here _ .” 

Now the prisoner looked up at him. “I  _ know  _ what you want,” he growled, giving a jerk against his restraints. “But no amount of violence is going to break me. You’re getting sloppy,  _ sir _ ,” he spat the last word to show his disdain.

Krennic smiled, bending to look him in the face. “You thought we were overzealous before? That was when I still cared about keeping you alive. But if you don’t have anything for me..” he shrugged, leaning in closer, tilting his head slightly. “You have a wife?” The words were casual, but the implication was clear. 

There was a terse moment before the prisoner answered-- by spitting in Krennic’s face, blood and saliva spraying him before he had the chance to dodge. He responded with a heavy blow, a quick grab of the man’s hair and another slam of his head against the table. One slam, and another, and then he let go to step back, to wipe his face. He didn’t take well to being disrespected, and he didn’t make threats lightly. The prisoner was gasping for breath, blood starting to streak down over one of his eyes from a crack in his brow. 

“S-see..” he panted, looking at Krennic with wild eyes.”Sloppy. You must be… new at this.” His voice raised, as if talking to someone in the next room. “I wonder when your supervisor will come and… ha, finish your job for you?” 

That did it. He wasn’t worth this, and Krennic was out of patience. One hand snapped out and caught the prisoner by the throat, tightening into a crushing fist around it. “I’m going to take everyone that you love. Everything you know, everything you  _ are _ \--” His other hand joined the first, a vein throbbed in his forehead as his fingers made a vice, ignoring the noise, the colour--

“Sir,” came someone’s voice through the haze, through the almost meditative state that accompanied the squeeze of fingers around the prisoner’s throat. He ignored it. He would talk soon, they would, he  _ never _ failed-- “Sir!” it was a shout this time, a warning noise. An interruption. Without thinking, he turned and backhanded the officer in one swift crack of his knuckles, driving him back a few steps with the blow. Everything chilled. 

It was silent except for the gasping noise that the prisoner was making, and the officers that were hurrying to release him from the chair and bring him to medical. Krennic stared at the floor. He wasn’t sorry, not about anything but their failure. “Dismissed,” he said quietly, dangerously, eyes flicking up from a wrinkled brow to glare at the officer. There was a welt rising on his cheek, he noticed, as the man saluted hastily, and rushed from the room. He turned back to see the prisoner, clinging to life, being carried out through another door. He was alone. 

He had been so  _ close _ . He could tell, he  _ knew _ these kinds of things. A swell of rage and he kicked one of the steel chairs with his full force, sending it flying to smash into the tiled wall. He  _ never _ failed-- it was  _ wholly unacceptable _ \-- another rush of fury and he slammed a fist into the two way glass that he had been behind only an hour prior, leaving a large crack, and a few fragments in his wake. He may have been bleeding, but he couldn’t tell, he was too alive with fury, too rife with disappointment. He raised his hand for another blow and stopped, as he heard the crackle of the intercom.

“I think that will be enough, don’t you, Director?” 

A step back. He wasn’t alone after all. He glanced at the security camera in the corner, but he knew where the Chairman was. Reluctantly, he turned to face his own reflection, distorted by the crack he’d left in the mirrored window. “How long have you been there?” he growled, embarrassed to have been caught. 

“Would you find it less humiliating if I told you I’d only just arrived?”   
  
“Did you?”   
  
“No.” 

Krennic nodded, casting his eyes down. He wouldn’t be facing serious disciplinary action for losing his temper, not someone in  _ his  _ office. But the man’s opinion of him-- might be altered, with this new perspective. And for someone as ambitious as him-- that was lethal. “I almost had him,” he muttered, his gaze slipping from the mirror.

“You didn’t.” 

He looked back, affronted. “I did,” he said, but his tone was petulant, and he immediately regretted the words-- and the tone. He knew the chairman was right, ultimately. If his  _ usual _ tactics hadn’t worked, it was only natural that-- well, there was a fine line between a forced confession, and a false one. “I’m sorry.” There was only the slightest tinge of resentment to his voice, but it wasn’t personally meant. He had omitted the ‘sir,’ from the end of his sentence, not wanting to allow the Chairman more power over him than he was due. He was disappointed in himself, and bitterly. 

The light switched on in the other room, and he could make out the prominent features of the Chairman. He wore a pair of dark glasses, the shadows from them making his eyes seem sunken even deeper into his distinctive cheekbones. Krennic lowered his gaze respectfully, waiting to be dismissed. 

Instead, he heard the turn of the knob, and his eyes shot to the door, which was opening. It was rare for the Chairman to speak with him personally, he must be  _ truly  _ furious. 

“Sir--”

“Orson.”

His eyes locked on the lenses, the older man’s expression entirely impossible to read behind them. It wasn’t often that the Chairman used his given name, in fact, Krennic couldn’t remember him ever having done it. Nor had he ever dared to use such a familiarity with the other. All things considered, The Chairman didn’t necessarily  _ outrank _ him. His role was more on a corporate level, more removed from the true grit of the job. Yet there was an innate deference that the Director felt obligated to afford him, he was a man who commanded respect. 

Slowly, a thumb hooked under the corner of the sunglasses, peeling them away from his eyes. The gesture was leisurely, and measured, and Krennic almost felt like he should look away.Yet-- the eyes were tired, older than he had imagined they would be. Clear. 

The Chairman didn’t say anything, not right away at least. He looked around the room, taking in the mess that Krennic had made with a defeated gaze. Then the water-blue eyes found him again, and Krennic felt utterly naked. 

“This is disappointing,” the Chairman’s voice was low, carrying well through the room nonetheless. “I expected… better.” 

“I understand, sir,” Krennic’s response was almost immediate, the disappointment drawing out of him a very juvenile feeling that he needed to please him. To make him proud. He loathed it. “I.. feel the same. I won’t let it happen again.”

“You show so much promise, Director,” The light eyes were examining the crack in the mirrored glass. “I would hate to see it all go to waste.” They flicked back to him, and it was so like a threat that Krennic nearly shivered. He nodded his head, his eyes returned to the floor. The Chairman may not have been Krennic’s direct  _ superior _ , and yet he felt that his performance had been found wanting-- and that the stakes were high.

“I--”

“No more excuses,” the tone was bored, as tired as his eyes. “I am finished discussing this. You will take the next two days to think about how you might improve your strategy. See that you don’t disappoint me a second time. Dismissed.” 

Krennic made it out of the room before he felt his face burn, at the very least. He was-- well, he needed a cigarette. 

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi to me on tumblr whee](http://roberthouse.tumblr.com)


End file.
